


Found You

by Rowena_Hill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, HP/SPN, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione's Holiday Hideaway 2018, Hermione/Dean - Freeform, HolidayHideaway18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 07:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17116829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowena_Hill/pseuds/Rowena_Hill
Summary: Dean's been gone nearly a year and Hermione is determined to find and bring him home. If she manages to do it before Christmas, then all the better.





	Found You

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Holiday Hideaway collection created by Hermione's Haven. I don't own any recognizable characters or settings. 
> 
> The prompt:  
> Pairing: Hermione/Dean Winchester
> 
> Location: Purgatory
> 
> Word Prompt: Silver Bells

Time was relative. The thought made him pause, leaves and branches cracking beneath the thick soles of his shoes as his weight shifted and settled. Time was relative. God, he could practically hear her say it, the words rolling off her tongue in that accent of hers while she fixed him with that look of superiority that always seemed to make him laugh. Fuck, he missed her and he was sure that the goddamn voice in his head whispering about time was right.

He’d been trying to keep up with the days but everything here was so upside down and the constant shadows didn’t help. The leather wrapped handle of his machete creaked as his grip tightened around it. Dean Winchester had lost enough time, too much time, and it pissed him the hell off. His nostrils flared as he let out a deep breath and closed his eyes; as much as he wanted to hack a nearby tree to death it wouldn’t do any good.

Time was relative. Opening his eyes once more, Dean focused on the horizon through the neverending field of trees and began to walk again. He was fairly certain he was heading east, just as he was fairly sure that it was almost Christmas. So he let her voice play on a loop in his head as he tried to find his way home.

Time was relative.

*

The cover of the book slammed shut and she shoved it away, groaning as the tome hit the floor. She should pick it up, dust it off, and set it back in its place, she knew that but that didn’t seem to encourage her to move. What are you going to do? Apologize to it? It was his voice in her head, teasing her with its whiskey scorched words, and she fought the impulse to scream. Merlin, she missed him- even if he was an impulsive idiot.

Kicking the edge of the worn sofa, Hermione stood and threw another log on the fire. It was such a Muggle thing to do, she thought as she pulled her flannel shirt tighter around her slender frame, keeping a fire up like this. But it made her move around, kept the blood pumping, and reminded her that magic was not a plaster for every little knick and cut. Still, it didn’t keep her from casting the occasional warming charm as she shuffled around the meager cabin.

Sam had left her months ago and it still hurt to think about. In the beginning, he would just watch her as she poured through book after book, scrawling out notes on whatever scraps of paper she could find. But he never helped, he hardly said a word except when he would hand her a plate of food or a bottle of water. She tried not to dwell on it, putting it all down to his losing his brother. Again. Then one morning he was just gone, his things missing and nothing left of his but a handwritten note stuck to the fridge that just read ‘Sorry’. Hermione had let herself scream then.

Still, he was good enough to send her the occasional text or email just to let her know that he was still alive. That was something, she reasoned. And between that and the near weekly fire call from Harry, she had managed to keep some sort of hold on her sanity.  
Sniffling, she pulled the sleeves of her shirt down over her fingers and pressed her hands against her face. If she squinted just right she could smell him on the cotton, all engine grease, and cheap soap. Goddamnit, she missed him so much it hurt and she tried not to cry as her fingers trembled beneath the worn flannel. 

Time was relative, the thought came to her as the clock on the wall struck on the hour. It was Christmas Eve and she couldn’t help but glance at the small tree in the corner. She’d picked it up at the hardware store in town along with some cheap lights and tinsel. Her heart wasn’t in it, how could it be? But the tree was there all the same if for nothing more than to be a reminder of the time.

She’d lost enough time without him and she hated just how weak that thought made her feel. He didn’t define her, she knew that intrinsically, but that did little to ease the ache that had settled deep within her chest. The pain plucked at her, pulling at her heartstrings with the rough abandon of a child that didn’t know what he was doing. That’s why she stood in the middle of that cabin, books lying around haphazardly as she wore his shirt and stared at the damn Christmas tree in the corner.

Time was fucking relative and yet she felt like she was running out of it. 

Hermione let her hands fall limply at her sides, the tremors slowly beginning to subside as she forced herself to swallow her tears and straighten her spine. She’d faced down Death Eaters and demons and pricks calling themselves angels, what was trying to find a dimensional rip compared to that?

“Find a fucking rip in the fabric of reality,” she muttered to herself with a dry laugh.

Find. Find.

No. No, it couldn’t be that simple. Desperation made her grab her wand and stalk out the front door into the woods. Time was relative, so she decided to extend that thought to include other dimensions.

“Point me,” she hissed in the darkness, ignoring the cold wind biting at her skin as the tip of her wand began to flicker with a soft blue light.

*

He’d decided that it was almost Christmas somewhere around his twelfth lap; he was certain he’d seen the same goddamn tree stump at least a dozen times that day. Even day was relative here, as far as he could tell the world was just various shades of gray that became darker or lighter at certain intervals. It was near the top of the list of things about Purgatory that drove him up the fucking wall.

How long had it been since he’d seen the tree stump last, he wondered as his eyes narrowed to scan his surroundings. No doubt it would be there behind the next hill, waiting to mock him and his effort to escape. God, he really was starting to lose his mind. But there was no stump and the terrain was slowly beginning to change. Dean wouldn’t get his hopes up, or at least he told himself that he wouldn’t, not when this small sliver of a chance could still blow up in his face.

Letting out a groan, he lowered himself down onto a nearby rock and balanced the blade of his machete on the tops of his thighs. His jeans were filthy and he knew that the rest of him wasn’t much better off, but he scrubbed his face with his hands anyways and tried to remember what a hot shower felt like. The last shower he’d had was with her, her small body pressed between him and the yellowed tile of the cheap motel they were staying in. She didn’t deserve the shitholes they stayed in, she deserved The Ritz or someplace that had chandeliers with real crystal. Yet she stayed with him.

“Christ,” he muttered, his teeth grinding as he tried to push the memory from his mind and ignore the sudden tightness of his jeans. There would be no relief for him, not for a long damn time, and he knew it. But he still swore that he could smell her perfume.

“Found you,” it was her voice, he knew it was, and his shoulders stiffened. It was a trick, it had to be.

“Dean?”

He turned his head, his hand gripping the handle of his machete, and stared at her. A breath he hadn’t known he was holding was ripped from his chest as he finally spoke. “Mya.”

*

In the end, it really was as easy as a simple locator spell. Well, a locator spell and an inordinate amount of rune work to find him and rip open a door to another world. By the time she’d convinced him that she wasn’t an illusion, pulled him back into the proper dimension, and sealed the door she was nearly dead on her feet. But her hand was cradled in his, his fingers gripping her tight, and she told herself that alone was more than enough to give her the strength to apparate back within the wards she’d set up around the little cabin.

“Is it Christmas?” he asked as soon as they were inside. He was covered in blood and dirt and Merlin knew what else but standing there between the firelight and the dim illumination of her tree she was certain that he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

Hermione swallowed thickly as she nodded. “Christmas Eve,” she replied. She watched as he stood there staring at the tree as if it were the first one he’d ever seen, knowing how he was raised it wouldn’t have surprised her.

“You don’t have any presents,” Dean said as he turned to look at her. Morgana, the way he looked at her, like his gaze could burn through to her very soul. It made her weak in the knees, but she made herself stand upright.

“Of course I do,” she said after a moment, her voice shaking. “I just had to go find you.”

*

The water was as hot as he could possibly get it, and even then it didn’t feel like it was quite hot enough. Purgatory had covered his skin and slipped down beneath the surface and he doubted that he’d ever be able to scrub it all away. He was sure as hell going to try, though. The only soap in the shower was hers and it was infinitely nicer than the gas station bars he normally bought, not that he really cared. Maybe smelling like her would drive away the filth that had seeped in while he’d been away.

His jaw worked as he stared down at the brightly shined chrome of the faucet. While he’d been away. While he’d been away his brother had fucked off to God knew where and left her alone. Sammy not looking for him had hurt enough as it was, but to abandon Mya? The more he thought about that, the angrier he became.

The sound of the shower door sliding open pulled him from his thoughts, and he shivered from the cooler air that briefly flowed in. As the door closed again, he turned around and stared down at her. Her hair was wild around her head, the steam from the shower already making her hair frizz. Dean didn’t give two shits what her hair looked like, hell he loved it, and his fingers buried themselves in the locks without a second thought. God, the way she looked up at him with those large, dark eyes of hers, it made him weak. 

He wanted to say something, anything, to tell her beautiful she was and how much he’d missed her, how much he loved her, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. It was all he could do to watch in fascination as the corners of her mouth curled up into a soft smile. 

“Mya,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he watched her step closer. The heat coming off of her body could scorch him more than the hot water ever could and he let himself fall into her gravity as his lips pressed against hers. 

It was almost as though a switch had flipped inside them both. The kiss became sloppy, desperate, as he pressed her back against the shower wall; it must have been cold because she gasped and he quickly took advantage, his tongue slipping into her open mouth. He had wanted her in bed, writhing beneath him with her hands gripping onto the sheets, but they weren’t going to make it that far. At least not yet.

*  
They’d stayed in the shower until the water turned cold and their legs became weak. How they managed to make it into bed she still wasn’t sure, but they had quickly buried themselves beneath a pile of blankets before getting tangled up in one another again. Hermione didn’t know what time it was when they finally drifted off to sleep, but it didn’t seem to matter when she woke up to his body curled around hers and sunlight streaming through the window. This was how it was supposed to be, she thought as she closed her eyes again, his breath ghosting over her bare skin as he held her close.

“Silver bells, silver bells, Batman smells,” his voice was soft as he sang, still thick with sleep. She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh as he botched the Christmas classic.

“You know that’s not how the song goes, right?” she asked as she turned in his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin.

Dean scoffed as his hand came up to smooth over her curls. “You know I don’t give a fuck, right?”

Hermione gave his hip a little pinch. “Arse.”

“You love my ass. Told me so several times, in fact.”

“Shut up.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest as his arms tightened around her. “Merry Christmas, Mya.”

*


End file.
